Worth More
by NotAContrivance
Summary: "Would you stand with me?" Andrew's little "thought experiment" means a lot more to him than he lets on. The stakes have never been higher, and he could lose everything... but he has to know. Episode Nine.


So this was... spontaneous and unplanned, really, but I went with it because I wanted to write something cute after that adorable episode. And I was itching to post something, and I was sick of seeing nothing get updated, but that's less important. This is inspired by the moment in the sneak peek, obviously, so it may contain spoilers if you haven't seen the episode yet, and partially based on that and my thoughts, based on a few conversations I've had lately, of... well, what if he knew something was up? But who knew he'd come to a turning point like this?

Anyway, I do not own Ringer or any of its characters. Nor, for that matter, do I own "Singin' in the Rain." I do love it, like I love Ringer, though, so does that count? ;)

So... Read. Enjoy. Review. If all that strikes your fancy anyway... but I'd definitely appreciate it for my hard work and sleepless night!

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><p>Something doesn't add up. Andrew's good with numbers, so he can recognize that much at least. One million plus one million is two, and Andrew plus Siobhan equals unhappiness and frustration, deceit and mistrust. This is the status quo. He knows it. He's gotten accustomed to it against his will and learned to live with it... only, in one month, he and his wife have somehow managed to turn the status quo completely upside-down. He doesn't know how she's managed it, really; he looks back and marvels at her, how she doesn't stop, even when he pushes her away.<p>

He loves this new Siobhan, but this gut feeling's screaming to him that this can't be real, that it has to be some sort of trick to lull him into a false sense of confidence. Maybe she wants something from him, something big, and wants to butter him up before asking. He doesn't know what it is, but it's definitely something.

Only, the more time goes by, he finds that he doesn't really want to know what it is. He doesn't want to question what's made her change so completely. It feels somehow ungrateful to look at this gift from God, this miracle that he never really expected, and ask questions like _why?_ and _how?_ and _who?_ and _what for?_.

For one, it wears on him, questioning his wife, not trusting anything she does. It even drove him a bit insane at the beginning, not knowing his wife's angle or intentions. At first it possessed him because it was so foreign and unusual that he **had** to attempt to make sense out of it. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how he pressed her, he's not getting anything but sincerity. And that throws him because his business instincts have told him that, if something _seems_ too good to be true, it usually is. And that's how she's acting. Like some Siobhan he's not sure he ever knew who's so sorry and smiles as sweet as sugar. At him.

She smiles for real, too, most of the time—not the fake smiles that don't reach her eyes, not the evasive, mysterious Mona Lisa half-smiles he's used to.

There's a kind of uncertainty to her smile, of course, and that's the only thing that makes him think there's a chance that she's really changed her mind. But, really, he can't understand it, no matter how hard he's tried. She seems to care about things again, things she hasn't cared about for years, things she's never even _pretended_ to care about, like his daughter's well-being. And, if he's not mistaken, she seems to actually care about him.

Which is sort of new, or, at the very least, a feeling he's forgotten she could ever have.

She's understanding in ways she never was before. She even tries to get along with Olivia, as if she senses that this is important to him (it'd make his life easier for sure, but he doesn't really care). She makes him coffee in the mornings and laughs at his jokes and hasn't made one sarcastic, belittling remark since he came back from London to this alien, this wife he never really knew.

She kisses him now, too. A lot, and he quite enjoys it but doesn't entirely know what to make of it. With Siobhan, he's always asking how long it's going to last. She holds his hand and strokes his fingers, and her palms are just slightly damp, almost like she's nervous. And she _lets_ him touch her, doesn't make a fuss when he reaches over and takes her hand or pulls her into an embrace or kisses her on the cheek and pushes back a strand of her hair like they do things like that. Apparently they do now, he supposes.

Sure, he sees traces of the woman he married in her. Fragments, like when the light hits her hair, or when she laughs, or looks at him sometimes in a certain light. Some of the things she does for him now remind him of things she used to do. Some of them are things she used to do but stopped doing ages ago. But the closer he looks, the more he sees someone else, some woman he doesn't know but desperately wants to.

He _wants_ to trust her. He _wants_ to think that this is real. And he tries, but it's hard to let his guard down. It's hard to put his toe in to test the waters without expecting a piranha to bite it off, and it's even harder to slowly wade in and get used to the heat.

He doesn't know what she wants from him. She doesn't seem to ask anything of him, which puts him even more on his guard. He wants to shake her like he shook Juliet and demand what she wants, ask her what she expects or what she's looking for because, well, it truly is maddening. And then, sometimes, she looks at him so adoringly that he actually allows himself to think that maybe he's all she really wants. That maybe, for a change, he's finally _enough_ for her now.

He wants to think he's enough for her, just like he wants to think that he's making her even half as happy as she's made him as of late, in spite of everything... Between losing the baby, Juliet acting out, his business problems, and Gemma's disappearance. He shouldn't be this happy, really. He has no right to be after some of the things he's done, but she makes him forget all that, makes him forget the past and that he isn't who he says he is.

Neither of them are who they say they are, really.

He wants to think her seeming happiness is genuine, despite those moments where she freezes or falters or looks at him like a deer-in-headlights and forgets something important. But he can never tell with Siobhan.

And then, thinking about poor missing Gemma and her sick, ailing father and what on Earth he's going to do about that (because he has to do _something_, decide either way), he gets an idea. A way of knowing for sure. He rubs his thigh absently before reaching to take her other hand. He shifts slightly on the couch, turning to face her just a little more fully. "Hey," he starts a bit breathlessly, catching her attention once more. And, ultimately, he doesn't know what possesses him, but he's looking at her, and it just starts to slip out before he can really think about it. "I know you don't like guessing games... but what about a thought experiment?"

She raises her eyebrows skeptically, tilts her head just a little bit to the side, smiling at him faintly. "A thought experiment?" she asks somewhat incredulously, not quite sure what to expect. Her grip on his hand remains firm, though, and she doesn't say anything else, so he can somewhat safely assume she's humoring him.

He smiles, and it surprises him just how soft his voice is. He almost doesn't recognize the sound of his own voice. "I know, I know, but, look, bear with me..." he says, trying to soothe her. If his grip tightens on her hands just a little, she doesn't notice. He forces a little chuckle like he's not actually serious about this, trying to downplay it so she'll tell him the truth. He pauses just a little too long, watching her carefully, turning more serious. "What if all of it were at stake?" He squints a little, trying to size her up. He's a little quick and a little too insistent to add, "Again, it's not. It's just an experiment."

His own words mock him. It's an experiment that means everything to him, a life-or-death experiment... and its results could make him or break him. No thought necessary to determine that much.

She nods, looking reassured. He's starting to panic a bit now because she didn't say anything in that brief pause and now he has to go through the whole horrible spiel. He turns his head to face her, head-on, needing to watch the entirety of her face for any minute reaction. He inhales just a bit too sharply, hoping she doesn't notice his nerves because he's trying so very hard to be calm for this, even though his heart is jumping all over the place, and if he were a weaker man like Tim Arbogast, he might just have a heart-attack right now. "What if doing the _right_ thing cost us everything?" he asked in a voice that sounded so sure of himself, so confident and so... everything he is not right now. Andrew's not exactly used to doing the right thing all the time. He wants to, but a lot of the time he fails. And for a long time he failed with Siobhan... but not now.

He knows what she thinks the right thing is; she made that much clear in her voice when she all but said that Olivia's outlook made her sick to her stomach. She blinks but makes no other reaction, merely watching you, mouth still slightly open, teeth still showing. So he goes on, gesturing and watching her, fingers absently stroking her hand, gesturing with the other. "The loft... the apartment... the house in the Hamptons... the clothes..." It gets a bit more ridiculous as he continues, but there really is a lot at stake for them, and he needs to know how she would react if his decision to do the right thing and be a good man blew up in his face. He smiles faintly, a bit amused by the thought of his wife without the designer labels she loves... or, for that matter, without clothes at all...

It makes for a nice momentary diversion to briefly lighten his mind from the weighty issues plaguing it. He likes that his wife is no longer one of those issues, that he finally feels like he can _breathe_ around her instead of always holding his breath. "Even the sushi?" she jokes, shifting forward. He likes that she can joke with him now, that she's not walking on eggshells around him and can be the fun, flirty woman he'd fallen in love with and yet didn't, not quite, because this one is far more free and open with her smiles and giggles more and, well, it doesn't feel quite so forced or intense. It just feels... easy and light, and fresh like a ray of sunlight, and he'd like things to stay that way.

But, of course, she has no idea of the stakes of this conversation. He's not really sure he does either. Olivia's been hiding things from him again. He doesn't know if he's in up to the hilt or what. Still, the stakes are higher than he knows, higher than he can measure.

He actually manages a relatively genuine smile, which surprises him given all he has riding on this. He can actually sort of laugh at that, because it isn't really at stake if his business goes under. He laughs even though said sushi sits fairly uneasily in his stomach, which is jumpy and fluttery in a way that is very unlike him. He's known in business for his skill, for his nerves of steel and boundless guts, for a fearlessness he lacks in his personal life, for the way he never, ever backs down. "Even the sushi, yes," he agrees quietly, chuckling a little more than he needs to for some sort of reassurance. He takes a deep breath then, because he needs it.

And here it is, the question he's really pinning all his hopes on. The smile disappears slowly from his face. He pauses, swallowing hard, and the facade slips and sort of falls away, and he's nothing more than a mortal man with his heart on his sleeve, desperately reaching out and hoping that she takes his hand and keeps holding on, rather than fatally-wounding him with a single word.

It's like there's a lump in his throat, his saliva's thick and threatens to choke him, and his tongue feels heavy and limpid in his mouth. And he hopes to God that he hasn't shown his cards already. "Would you..." he starts before pausing for a moment, literally unable to force the words past his lips. He's not ready for this. His brow furrows, and he can feel his expression turn more serious, grave even, like he's showing her that this is for real. And he's terrified of being that vulnerable, terrified she'll call his bluff and say what he fears... Oh God, he can _barely_ get this out, and his stomach is churning so viciously that he feels like he's about to throw up. Why is this so much harder than it has to be, than it should be? What's the worst thing that could happen? "Would you stand with me?" he asks, clutching her hand like it's his last lifeline.

Are you with me, even if this is not what you signed on for? Did you really mean it when you said "for richer, for poorer?" Will you stay by my side, even if I lose it all? Can I trust you to be there when I need you?

Andrew's a risk-taker and a professional gambler in business, gets off the adrenaline rush of it... but he **hates** taking risks in his personal life, hates putting himself out on the line like this. He doesn't want to risk being wrong about this, to have hopelessly misread her and the situation. Everything, _everything_ in his life that's ever meant anything, hinges on her next statement. She has... absolute power over him, and she doesn't even know it. She just thinks that this is some little experiment to amuse him. And what if she says the wrong thing? What is he to do then?

He's watching her with feverish eyes, searching her for any sign of a response, searching her the way he has been for over a month now, trying to find the catch. That one second before she smiles seems like a damn eternity, and then she nods, and he's lost in a deluge of relief and affection. He stares her straight in the eyes as she says it, and he knows she isn't lying. "I'd stand with you," she murmurs in that soft, familiar voice, the one she only uses when she's flirting with him and being so damn cute he wants to crush her to him and never, ever let her go.

He can see that she doesn't even think about it. He wants to lean across the couch and kiss her right then and there until he has no breath left, but he can't. He knows it would get out of hand because he wants it to, and he wants to be able to take his time with her, to rediscover her all over again, this woman he only _thought_ he knew and only thought he loved. She gives him a private, closemouthed smile, lips entirely too perfect and glossy for the meal they've just had.

He lets out the tiniest of breaths, looking on her with admiration. He stares at the way the light hits her hair and makes her bare shoulder look even more creamy and inviting, but he stares deeply into her eyes, trying to convey some sense of how much this means to him without actually saying it. He smiles slowly to himself and gently brings her hand to his lips, pressing his lips softly and warmly against her knuckles. It's a gesture that cannot possibly give her an idea of what she's just done for him or how he feels or any of that, but it's all he can do to show her without kissing every inch of her body, which he can't actually do in his office building on his lunch break.

He's touched beyond all measure by those words. By the way she responds almost a second after he asks the question. He's a little overcome, really, and he knows he could just sit there and _look_ at her all day, marveling that such a creature is his wife. That she deigns to share his bed and his apartment and his life. That she's a part of him and his family, and that's forever. That she wears his ring and bears his name, that she's all his and no one else's. That she was once pregnant with his child and that she will be again someday in the not-so-distant future. And he knows he has never loved her more than he does now, in this very moment. He's not sure he's ever loved anyone this much, except maybe Juliet, but he knows that he would do anything for her, anything at all if she just asked. And something low in his stomach tells him that she'd do the same for him.

And then there's the thought that he is so incredibly _lucky_ to have this woman, to have ever found anything like her in his entire life... so beautiful, so perfect, so understanding, so caring, and a thousand other adjectives that don't even begin to describe the wonderful creature he's been married to for the past month and a half... that he doesn't want to question it anymore. He wants—no, **needs**—her to be real. He needs to think that she could love him the same way he loves her, that he's the kind of man who deserves such love and devotion despite all the things he's put her through and all the wretched things that he's done.

And when he looks into her eyes, shining bright green and so damn full of trust it takes his breath away, he wants to be that man. He wants to _be_ the man he sees when he looks into her eyes, the man she's mistaken him for, the perfect Prince Charming she thinks he is. He wants to be everything she wants and everything she needs, and he wants to be everything to her, everything that she deserves for looking at him that way, that way that no one but her—no one, not even Juliet, his daughter, who is all too aware that he has feet made of clay—has ever looked at him. Almost like she idolizes and idealizes him, him, of all people!

He knows now. He needs to be a better man for her. The kind of man who's worth her trust and her love. The kind of man who will make her happy and give her the life she wants, and, God, how glad is he that she actually said yes? That she's given him this second chance to make things right that he never thought he'd ever get. That she'd stand with him if he lost everything (and the moment she said she'd stand with him is the first moment in his entire life that he's felt like his value as a man was tied to something other than his net worth, and he feels like he can do _anything_ with her behind him, be anything!).

Truthfully, he doesn't really want to shake down Henry for the connection. He never did. He doesn't want to be that guy, to be all business all the time. He doesn't like doing things like that, being the unethical, ruthless, soulless businessman people have always accused him of being. He wanted her to tell him to do the right thing, _needed_ her to convince him... and, miracle of all miracles, she did.

So he stops worrying about Arbogast, about what landing him or not landing him means for his empire, his business—what used to pass for his life—the prison house of cards he's so carefully and lovingly constructed because, for once, he isn't afraid that it'll all come tumbling down and that he'll lose everything he's worked for.

Because he'll still have _her_, even if everyone else he knows deserts him, and that's all that really matters, isn't it?

He has ties (not just the kind that tighten around his neck like a noose), bonds (a different, more sentimental kind that yield better dividends) now, real things that will be his no matter what. And that's what he's been looking for all these years in all the wrong places... searching for something more valuable than all the gold, silver, platinum, emeralds, rubies, sterling, greenbacks, euros, renminbi, and yen put together. At the age of thirty-eight, he's finally found what really matters once he stopped looking and let this beautiful, lovely, amazing woman just _happen_ to him.

Then he looks away, exhaling heavily because it's all a little too much. She takes his breath away.

He's also reminded annoyingly and unfortunately of his obligations. He doesn't want to go back to Olivia. He doesn't want to leave her, but he has these stupid obligations... but what silly little business matter could _possibly_ be more important than his beautiful wife? What business could ever make him feel even a sliver of this delicious, infectious, intoxicating happiness where he gets high just sitting next to her, holding her hand, and watching the sunlight light up her face, blissfully an addict and a devotee.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

He wants to go home, with her, and do anything other than talking business and staring at numbers and figures like they hold the answer to anything remotely important in life. He mumbles something about work, asks her about her plans in a daze (he's already thinking about skipping out early to surprise her). She mentions church, and he giggles like he hasn't in a very long time, unable to believe it. His life is that surreal now. She's... constantly seeking to surprise him, he thinks, and the more it happens, the more he finds that he kind of likes it, enjoys being surprised by her each and every day.

A few thoughts keep cycling in his head on loop. One is that she'd stand by him.

And the other, far more sinister and depressing thought is something that sinks like a stone in his stomach and buoys his love and enthusiasm just a little. When he looks back, he's pretty sure it's the only thing that prevents him from telling her just how much he loves her, that and some insignificant thought about how it's not the right time, that there's a better time waiting for them... that it's too soon after their reconciliation.

The painful truth is this:

She would _never_ have said that before, much less in that voice. She might've nodded noncommittally or faked a smile or dodged the question, but she would never have meant it like she had when he'd asked. He knows this with an absolutely unshakable certainty that could twist up his insides if he let it. She could've lied to him all she liked, maybe even tricking herself into thinking it was true (yes, his wife really was _that_ good of a liar), but she would've left. She would not have stood by him, probably would've done the same even at the best point in their relationship.

This woman, this Siobhan in front of him, this angel and miracle worker... is an entirely different woman. He knows that too.

But... he might just be okay with that.

And he doesn't know what's changed since then, has no idea why she's changed one-hundred percent almost overnight... but, honestly, he doesn't care. All that matters now is that he has her, and he's _finally_ found the Siobhan he was looking for, the one he deluded himself into thinking he was marrying... and he's never been happier in all his life.

And that's enough for him.

And, while that tiny part of him screams out that this isn't real and can't possibly last, certainly won't last forever, he ignores it, silencing it viciously. It feels pretty damn real to him, and he'll do whatever he can to ensure that things stay this way for a long time... and he knows now that both of them really want this marriage to work. He's not going to question this rare gift he's been given, not anymore.

So what if a few details don't add up? So what if his wife still has some secrets? He'll learn them eventually. One day he'll know everything about her because she _chose_ to tell him and chose to show him... and maybe it won't make sense, but he'll only love her more for it.

They talk a little bit more, and she kind of mocks him and laughs like a kid, smiling brighter than he's ever seen her, completely unselfconscious. He can't help it; he leans across the sofa and kisses her harder than he intended to. She smiles against his lips and falls back against the arm of the divan, pulling him with her so he's half on top of her, kind of on his knees on the couch. She pulls him closer and closer to her, deepening the kiss until he's so lightheaded that he forgets his reason, forgets why he didn't do this in the first place. She wiggles against him a little, making herself more comfortable, and his throat feels suddenly very dry.

He pushes himself up and away from her, though he's loathe to do it, and she rises up and steals a kiss from him before he can move a safe distance away, like she can't get enough. Her lip-gloss is smeared, probably all over his face, and her lips are redder, healthier-looking. He tries to calm himself down, to get his breathing and heart rate to slow down, forcing himself to think about Olivia, the ultimate cold shower. "I'd better go before things get out of hand," he murmurs suggestively, raising his eyebrows, starting to rise to his feet and straighten his clothes so that Olivia won't glower at him and give him that nasty sarcastic knowing look of hers.

He can already hear her voice in her head saying disparagingly, "Really, Andrew? On your lunch break? What are you, a newlywed day trader?" She'd always had a knack for telling when he'd gotten some action, just like she had a tendency to deflate his morning-after good mood faster than even his wife.

"Honestly, Shiv, you'll see me in just a few short hours for dinner. You can make it 'til six, can't you?" he teases. She shakes her head no, a flirtatious look in her eyes. He'd sigh, exasperated, if he didn't find it so endearing and thrilling, to have her look at him that way again. Siobhan holds fast to his blazer and is reluctant to let it go, even when he offers her her own jacket, but she eventually smiles and relinquishes it because he bends down, placing his hand on her cheek, and gently presses his lips to hers. He pulls away after a moment, and her eyes open the very same second his do, clouded and dark and sparkling for him, more exquisite and rare and flawless than any emerald.

He strokes her cheek softly, thinking of the thousand-and-one things he has to say to her, and he surprises himself by actually saying the first one that comes to mind. He's shaking his head in slight disbelief. "I... have absolutely no idea what caused you to change your mind about everything, but whatever's come over the both of us... I hope it never ends," he whispers, so close that her eyelashes brush against his cheek, and his words can be felt on her lips. She licks her lips, tongue sweeping across his mouth, and he takes a step back, smiling and tracing her jawline with his fingertips. She's smiling too, but with a breathless, wide-eyed look in her eyes as she nods like there's nothing she wants more.

"You make me so happy, love," he continues honestly, surprising himself with both the volume and the emotion of his words and feelings. He gazes at her fondly, can see that same happiness reflected in his eyes, and his smile widens to the point where it's actually probably obscene to be this happy. His thumb travels along her cheekbone before dropping down and following the curve of her face. She leans into his touch like a cat, eyes a bit more moist. He stares her straight in the eyes as he says it. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve you, darling... but thank you," he murmurs, pulling her into an embrace.

And then he pulls away just a bit because a thought's occurred to him. She blinks up at him, a little bit confused and much more dewy-eyed than before, silently questioning. He doesn't once take his eyes off hers now, mesmerized by how liquid green they are, how perfect and beautiful and expressive they are, and he just never noticed because he was always too busy with other things. Other things that weren't her. "Just so you know... I'd stand with you too," he breathes, slowly disengaging from the hug and taking her hand in both of his the same way she had earlier. No matter what, he thinks but doesn't say. He's so determined to keep this. "Come what may," he added in a low, barely audible voice, nearly a whisper, so overcome by emotion as he pulls the back of her hand to his lips once more, pressing his lips against it with all the love he has for her.

That seals the promise and binds him to her more than ever. As he pulls back a mere moment later, he sees the unshed tears sparkling in her eyes, like maybe what he's just said touches her the same way it touched him. He hopes she knows he means it, that he isn't just saying it because she said it too. He sees the way she beams at him and pulls him back down into an embrace, murmuring something he can't quite understand before she lets him go after a small, wonderful eternity of his cool cheek against hers. Then she smiles at him even wider, subtly pressing her fingers underneath her eyes, and blows him a kiss as he starts to leave, whistling "Singin' in the Rain" like he always does when he's in a good mood, though he doesn't think he's ever really understood the meaning and feeling behind that song even half as much as he does at the moment.

It _is_ a glorious feeling, being happy again and ready for love.


End file.
